


She's a Rebel

by youjik33



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Car Sex, F/F, First Time, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 10:27:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10010657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youjik33/pseuds/youjik33
Summary: Of course Pacifica is going to be prom queen. That's a given. And it's what she wants... isn't it?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Gravity Falls kinkmeme](http://kinky-falls.dreamwidth.org). It was supposed to be a quick and dirty PWP, but it ran away from me a little bit.
> 
> Pacifica and Wendy are around 17 and 19, respectively, when this story takes place. 
> 
> Title shamelessly stolen from the Green Day song currently earworming me.

Pacifica waited until the heavy doors closed behind her. Then she took a deep breath and screamed, as loud as long as she could, until her throat ached, the sound echoing off the brick walls of the school and into the moonlit night.

“Whoa,” a voice said from beside her. “Are you like, turning into some kind of were-beast, or is this just teen hormones?”

Pacifica wheeled to face the voice, wobbling slightly on her sky-high lavender pumps. “Wendy Corduroy,” she said, then cleared her scratchy throat. “Didn’t you graduate, like, two years ago?”

“Yup,” Wendy said. “I’m catering.”

That explained what she was wearing – a white dress shirt tucked into black slacks, her red hair pulled back in a messy bun. It also explained the tray of canapes she was currently stuffing in her face.

“Aren’t you supposed to be serving those in the gym?” Pacifica asked.

Wendy shrugged. “I’m taking a break. Aren’t you supposed to be getting crowned prom queen?”

“I don’t want to be prom queen,” Pacifica said.

This wasn’t entirely true. There was a part of Pacifica that desperately needed that validation. There was another part of her that hated herself for wanting it. The latter half had been getting increasingly irritable – every moment Pacifica spent picking out the perfect dress, getting her hair and nails done. That other self had finally threated to come bursting out, and Pacifica had just barely made it away from the dance in time to let out that scream.

“Don’t blame you,” said Wendy.

Wendy could have been prom queen herself her senior year, if she’d bothered to actually run. She got a bunch of votes anyway, and didn’t even go to prom. Pacifica didn’t think she’d ever met anyone who cared less about what other people thought of her. She had never exactly been friendly with Wendy, but she had a certain amount of respect for her.

Pacifica fidgeted with the silver bangles at her wrist and then asked, “Do you ever feel like you just want to... run away?”

“Well, yeah,” Wendy said. “Why do you think I’m out here? I needed some alone time with these salmon thingies.”

“No, I mean like... _away_ away.”

Wendy licked salmon pate off her fingers thoughtfully. “When I was like 13, I got mad at my brothers about something or other, and went and lived in the woods for three weeks. It was pretty cool. Turned out I missed them, though. Plus I really wanted a shower.”

“Really? Were your--” Pacifica remembered just in time to amend her question. “Was your dad angry?”

“What? No.” Wendy laughed. “He kept going on about how proud he was that I’d mastered the survival skills he taught us. And cried some manly tears.” She held the nearly-empty tray out, and Pacifica gingerly lifted a canape off it. It wasn’t exactly the highest quality fish, but Pacifica hadn’t eaten since breakfast for fear of smudging her makeup, and it tasted pretty good. She ate five of them.

“Want to grab some champagne?” Wendy asked. “I nabbed the keys to the catering van.” She held up the keyring, and the jingling of the keys made Pacifica freeze in place for a moment.

“...champagne?” she managed. “At a high school prom?”

“It’s in a cooler thingie, I guess they just keep it there all the time. C’mon, nobody will notice one missing bottle.”

Wendy tucked the now-empty tray under her arm and started heading across the parking lot to the van. Pacifica could dimly hear the pulsing beat of dance music coming from the gym; it seemed so far away. She should go back. Everyone would assume she had just ducked off to the bathroom for a minute. She could claim her title and fake-smile and bat her painstakingly curled eyelashes, and pretend the fawning of the crowd wasn’t tinged with jealousy and irritation. Her parents would acknowledge her just long enough to nod in approval when she came home with the sash and crown.

Wendy had unlocked the back doors of the van, and sat on the bumper. “Coming?” she called.

Pacifica took a breath and went, lifting the hem of her dress and stepping carefully around the puddles in the cracked pavement.

“C’mon up,” Wendy said, disappearing into the shadows in the back of the van.

Pacifica could hear the keys rattling. The van had a sickly sweet smell, like old soda. Its floor was lined in textured rubber mats, and there was a metal cage along the right wall, full of disposable plates and cups. It was not a place she felt she belonged. Her prom dress, hand-beaded and layered with silk tulle, probably cost as much as the van.

She had to do an awkward little jump to get her knees up on the bumper, and heard a couple of beads pop off and hit the asphalt.

Pacifica crawled on her hands and knees across the weird rubber matting, trying to ignore how sticky it was, and sat with her back against the wall. Wendy had retreived a bottle, and was struggling to get the cork out with an opener she must’ve found elsewhere in the van. It finally popped, sending a rivulet of liquid down her arm. She seemed unconcerned, licking it off her wrist with a laugh. Pacifica felt something deep inside her stomach go warm at the sight.

“Not bad,” Wendy said, taking a swig and then handing the bottle over. There were literally hundreds of plastic cups behind the wires across from them, but Pacifica took the bottle anyway.

“This is a domestic,” she said, squinting at the label.

“So what? Who even knows the difference?” Wendy said, rolling her eyes.

Northwests knew the difference. Pacifica’s father, back before they had lost enough of their wealth that Pacifica was forced to attend public school, had once paid $35,000 for a single bottle of burgundy. She wondered if his wine collection was still gathering dust in their old cellar, or if that crazy hobo who’d bought the house had fed it to the raccoons.

Cheap domestic or not, the wine was sweet and bubbly. She took a long pull, and tried not to think about the fact that Wendy’s mouth had been on the bottle just moments before.

“You know, you’re actually pretty cool when you loosen up a little bit,” Wendy said.

“Thanks,” Pacifica said drily. “You know, it’s a lot of work looking this good. Sometimes I actually like to put in some effort.”

“Sure,” Wendy said. “But don’t you ever, like, sit around in yoga pants eating ice cream right out of the carton? Or just spend hours locked in your room with your vibrator?”

Pacifica choked, coughed, and champagne dribbled down her chin and fizzed in her nose. “Ew, no.”

“Not sure which of those things you’re saying ‘ew’ to.”

“Yoga pants are for doing yoga,” Pacifica said primly. Wendy shoved a stack of paper napkins at her, and Pacifica wiped down her face and neck. “And I don’t even own a... one of those.”

“What, seriously?”Wendy said. ”Oh, man. You need to get one. The absolute best thing about getting my own apartment is that I can just get off whenever I want. It’s awesome.” She leaned in, grinning as she studied Pacifica’s face. “Dude, you’re totally blushing.”

“That’s your fault,” Pacifica snapped. Wendy was so close, Pacifica could feel her body heat. The back of the van suddenly seemed very warm and very small. She reached to smooth down the skirt of her dress and her hand brushed Wendy’s, by accident. Their fingers twined together, on purpose. Pacifica drew a shaky breath, and leaned in to press her lips to Wendy’s.

Wendy’s lips were soft, her mouth sweet from the wine. Her hand came up to cup Pacifica’s chin. “Cool,” Wendy said. “I’ve never made out with the prom queen before.”

“I think I might be forfeiting that particular title,” Pacifica said, leaning in for another kiss.

“Got sick of the high school cliches?” Wendy’s teeth dragged down the curve of Pacifica’s neck, making her gasp. “How about that whole losing your virginity on prom night thing?”

“That could still happen,” Pacifica said, feeling bolder.

Wendy grinned up at her, mouth just above Pacifica’ s collarbone. “Yeah?”

“I mean,”Pacifica said. “I don’t have a boyfriend or anything.”

She had gone stag to prom, played it off with a big show of not being able to choose between all the boys who had asked her, not wanting to hurt any feelings. Truthfully, she just wasn’t that interested in any of them.

“Me neither,” Wendy said. “I think.”

Pacifica started to laugh at that, but then Wendy was snaking a hand up her skirt, brushing against her inner thigh, and Pacifica tensed and grabbed at Wendy’s shoulders.

“We probably don’t have a whole lot of time,” Wendy said. “They’re gonna start loading the van before prom’s actually over. And everyone’s probably wondering where you are.”

“Then you’d better get on with it.” Haughty confidence was such a familiar state for Pacifica that it was easy to fake now. She leaned back against the wall of the van, spreading her thighs under Wendy’s hands, heart pounding. She had a suspicion that Wendy knew it was fake.

“Purple looks good on you,” Wendy said, hiking Pacifica’s dress up around her waist and getting a good look at her lacy panties.

“I know.” She shuddered as Wendy’s lips brushed against the inside of her thigh, a feather-light series of touches. Wendy’s fingers hooked into the band of Pacifica’s panties, and she lifted her hips to help her get them down.

“Huh,” Wendy said. “You really are a natural blonde.”

“What’s that supposed to-” Pacifica began, the words catching in her throat as Wendy ran one fingertip up the slick folds of her pussy.

“God, you’re _drenched_ ,” she said.

“That’s your fault, too. You better take some responsibility.”

Pacifica expected to feel that teasing finger push inside. Instead, Wendy’s mouth replaced it, and her tongue gave one long, slow sweep.

“That better?” Wendy asked.

“Don’t stop,” Pacifica said. The words sounded a little too much like begging for comfort, but they got the desired result. Pacifica had touched herself before, but this was so different. The warm, wet pressure of that tongue inside her was making her dizzy. She felt like she was coming out of her body, anchored only by the building electric tingle between her legs. She wished she could see more clearly over the bunched-up folds of her skirt, and dug her fingers into the tulle, trying to hold it down. Wendy saw her looking, grinned up at her even while her tongue just kept lapping into Pacifica’s pussy. Pacifica would have been content to ride that slow wave to climax, but then Wendy pressed her thumb against the nub of Pacifica’s clit, and it was like she’d flipped a switch, sending a jolt through her whole body.

“ _Fuck,_ ” she gasped. Wendy was laughing at her – she could feel the vibrations of it against her skin. That thumb pressed against her clit again and that was too much, she was gone, her hips wanting to both press into that touch and buck away from the overstimulation. Her whole body was shaking, coming completely undone, and she barely even noticed when she banged her head against the side of the van.

Panting and dazed, she lifted her hips to help Wendy get her panties back up her shaking legs.

“That was hot,” Wendy said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“I see what you were getting at with the vibrator thing,” Pacifica said. Her voice was still a little wobbly. “I feel more relaxed already.”

“You look like a mess. A hot mess, but – wait, no, that means something else. I mean you look like a mess but also hot.”

She felt like she should be annoyed, but Wendy had a point. Pacifica could tell her hair was coming undone from its carefully pinned updo, sections of it falling around her shoulders. Her makeup was certainly smudged. And there was a tear in her dress, where the seam of the skirt met the bodice. Her parents were going to kill her. Just now, she didn’t really care.

“You know,” Wendy continued. “You barely ate anything at the dance. My apartment’s only a couple of blocks from here, we could go hang out, order a pizza.”

“Yeah?”

“And maybe I could show you my vibrator. Just so you really know what you’re missing.”

Pacifica almost thought she heard a bell ringing, somewhere in the distance. It was easy enough to ignore. “Sure,” she said.

Wendy helped Pacifica climb out of the back of the van, and left the keys on the driver’s seat. They left a few fallen beads between the textured rubber mats. Pacifica wondered what the other caterers would make of them.

She looped her arm through Wendy’s, and let the other girl lead her down the sidewalk, away from the school.

“If you don’t want to wear that fancy dress all night,” Wendy offered, “You can even borrow a pair of my yoga pants.”

“Now you’ve gone too far,” Pacifica said, but she was smiling.

 


End file.
